The Web

Chapter 1: The Message Before Midnight

AMARA

In twelve hours, I would become Mrs. Adrian Cole.

I had imagined this moment a thousand times. The white dress, the flowers, the music, and the handsome man waiting at the altar.

What I hadn’t imagined was discovering that the man I loved might be connected to my best friend’s death.

But that came later.

At ten o’clock that evening, I was still hopelessly in love.

“You’re staring again,” Adrian said.

I smiled at his reflection in the bedroom mirror.

“Am I not allowed to admire my future husband?”

He approached me from behind, slipping his arms around my waist.

“Admire all you want, sweetheart. Tomorrow, I’m officially yours.”

His lips brushed my neck, sending a familiar shiver down my spine.

“Adrian!” I laughed. “You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

“Then stop looking so beautiful.”

I turned in his arms.

At thirty-four, Adrian Cole was everything women whispered about. Tall, devastatingly handsome, and wealthy enough to own half the city’s skyline.

But it wasn’t his money that made me fall in love.

It was the little things.

The way he remembered how I liked my coffee. How he called every afternoon just to hear my voice. How he held me whenever nightmares about my past returned.

For two years, Adrian had been my safe place.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“About marrying you?”

He nodded.

“Terrified,” I teased.

He placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

“That hurts.”

I laughed.

Then his expression softened.

“Amara, look at me.”

I did.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens after, promise me you’ll remember that I love you.”

Something about his seriousness unsettled me.

“Why are you talking like that?”

He hesitated.

“Because sometimes love isn’t enough to protect the people we care about.”

Before I could ask what he meant, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

His smile disappeared.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Just business.”

“At this hour?”

“Unfortunately.”

He declined the call, but it rang again immediately.

Adrian kissed my forehead.

“I need to take this. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him leave.

For some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

By eleven thirty, Adrian still hadn’t returned.

I had changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed, scrolling through messages from my bridesmaids.

My mother had sent a voice note reminding me to pray before sleeping.

My maid of honor, Jasmine, had threatened to drag me down the aisle herself if I arrived late.

I laughed.

Tomorrow was going to be perfect.

Then my phone vibrated.

Unknown Number: Are you alone?

I frowned.

Who is this?

The reply came immediately.

Someone who knows what your fiancé did.

My smile faded.

Excuse me?

Don’t marry Adrian Cole.

I sat upright.

My first thought was that someone was playing a cruel prank.

Adrian was a wealthy man. Wealth attracted enemies, jealous ex-girlfriends, and people desperate for attention.

If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny.

Three dots appeared.

Then a new message.

Ask him what happened five years ago.

My stomach tightened.

Five years ago?

That was before Adrian and I met.

What are you talking about?

A photograph arrived.

Adrian stood outside an expensive restaurant wearing a charcoal-gray suit. Beside him was a beautiful woman in a red dress.

His arm was wrapped around her waist.

He was smiling at her.

Not the polite smile he gave strangers.

The smile he reserved for someone he loved.

My chest tightened.

I zoomed in.

The woman’s face was partially turned away, but something about her looked familiar.

Her long black hair.

Her high cheekbones.

The small beauty mark above her upper lip.

No.

Impossible.

I enlarged the photograph again.

My fingers began trembling.

I knew that woman.

I had known her since we were seven years old.

We shared lunchboxes, secrets, birthday cakes, and dreams of becoming successful women.

Her name was Vanessa Reed.

My childhood best friend.

And five years ago, I stood beside her coffin while her mother cried so hard she collapsed.

Vanessa was dead.

I had attended her funeral.

I stared at the photograph until my vision blurred.

Where did you get this? I typed.

No response.

Who are you?

Still nothing.

Then another message appeared.

You deserve to know the truth, Amara.

I jumped out of bed.

“Adrian!”

Silence.

I hurried down the hallway toward his study.

The door was closed.

I reached for the handle.

Locked.

Adrian never locked his study when we were home together.

I raised my hand to knock.

Then I heard his voice.

Low.

Furious.

“I warned you not to contact her.”

I froze.

There was a pause.

Then Adrian spoke again.

“She knows nothing about Vanessa. And that’s exactly how it’s going to stay.”

My heart stopped.

Vanessa?

Why was Adrian talking about Vanessa?

My phone vibrated in my trembling hand.

One final message illuminated the screen.

Vanessa didn’t die five years ago, Amara.

I couldn’t breathe.

Then another message arrived.

She’s alive.

A photograph followed.

It showed a woman standing outside our apartment building.

The timestamp read 11:47 p.m.

Tonight.

I zoomed in on her face.

Vanessa.

Older, thinner, but unmistakably Vanessa.

Before I could move, the study door clicked open.

Adrian stood in the doorway.

His eyes dropped to my phone.

Then he looked at my face.

“Amara,” he whispered.

For the first time since I’d known him, my fiancé looked afraid.

“Who sent you that picture?”

I stepped backward.

“Adrian… why is my dead best friend standing outside our building?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached past me and locked the hallway door.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “whatever you do, don’t let her inside.”